


Village of the Damned

by clgfanfic



Category: War of the Worlds (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-12-03 04:20:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/694044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The team responds to a radio transmission and run into aliens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Village of the Damned

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine A Small Circle of Friends #1 and reprinted in Green Floating Weirdness #22 both under the pen name Gillian Holt.
> 
> This is a recycle of a Counterstrike episode.

_"But you have to admit, they do seem to be behind more and more… unusual events these days."_

 

          Rolling his voice-activated wheelchair up to his basement workstation that looked like a cross between the bridge of the _Enterprise_ and mission control, Norton Drake waited for his work terminal to boot, then commenced with his daily morning ritual – listening to the cites that the Cray had pulled off the various computer networks.  Cites that included keywords like "weird" or "aliens" or "spaceships" or "melted bodies."

          Turning the volume down when a discussion between border guards started to drag on, Norton rolled back, mixed, brewed, and then poured himself a cup of coffee.

          "Gertrude, home base," he commanded and the chair rolled back to the terminal while he savored his first sip.  Another few months and he was sure he'd reach java-perfection.

          Leaning back, he listened to the two men and enjoyed his coffee, but choked when the voices shifted.

          "I repeat, this is Dr. Ephrem Jacobi of the New Pacific Institute, can anyone hear me?  Please!"

          "This is Sheriff Hopewell of the Jamestown Sheriff's department," a feminine voice replied.  "Do you have a problem, Dr. Jacobi?"

          "Yes, yes, there is a problem."

          "Tell me what's wrong."

          "Chemicals, there's chemicals here!" Jacobi nearly wailed.  "Who sent us these— these… abominations?"

          "Doctor, I don't understand," the female voice replied.

          "Parathion!  They're polluting the planet!  Their evil will poison us all!  I know.  You're trying to discredit me!  You want to destroy me!  You're all like— like… ants, crawling over me, trying to break my resolve, but you won't get away with it!  I'll stop you!  I'll expose you, all of you for what you are!  And I'll _kill_ anyone who tries to stop me!"

          Slamming his cup down, Norton grabbed the nearby phone and stabbed Harrison's office extension.

          "Norton, I'm right—"

          "Get down here, Harrison – _now_."  The computer-expert hung up, still listening.

          "Doctor, where are you?  Dr. Jacobi?" Hopewell asked.

          "New Columbia Village will not become a— a cesspool of poison!" the older man screeched.  "Judgment is upon us!  Hell is opening her gates!"  A scream ended the conversation.

          Norton leaned forward.  What the hell was going on?

          "Josh?" Hopewell continued.  "Josh, do you read?  It's Kaelyn."

          "Roger, Kaelyn, I read you.  What's up?"

          "Josh, can you drive out to New Columbia Village and see if there's anything going on?  I just got the strangest mayday from somebody named Dr. Ephrem Jacobi."

          "Roger, Kaelyn, I'm on my way."

          "Ephrem?" Harrison echoed, striding into the basement lab, his annoyed expression turning worried.

          Norton looked up at the astrophysicist.  "It's Jacobi all right, listen to this," he said, backtracking to the beginning and replaying the exchange.  "He's really freaked out."

          Harrison moved closer, listening intently to each word as he leaned against the workstation, chewing on his bottom lip.

          When it was over, Norton reached out and stopped the rest.  "What do you think?"

          Without answering, Harrison reached out and picked up the phone, calling his old academic home, the New Pacific Institute.  "Good morning," he said to the secretary who answered.  "This is Harrison Blackwood.  I'd like to speak to Ephrem."  He listened, then frowned, his blue eyes narrowing.  "I see, well, thank you, I'll call back then."

          "What?" Norton asked when Blackwood hung up.

          "Ephrem's still at the New Columbia Village," Harrison relayed.  "But he was supposed to be back in his office at PIT this morning.  When did the radio call come in?"

          Norton queried the Cray.  "Yesterday afternoon."

          "Well, PIT obviously hasn't heard anything from the local authorities.  I wonder what happened to that deputy."

          "Want me to find out?"

          Harrison nodded, reaching over to pull a chair over from its corner and sitting down.  He ran a hand over his unruly light brown hair and waited impatiently.

          Norton leaned over his keyboard, typing steadily for several minutes before he looked up, a self-satisfied grin his face.  "Nobody can hide from Norton Drake."

          Harrison fought back an amused smile and replied in serious tones.  "What truth have you uncovered for me, oh, keyboard-meister?"

          Norton's eyebrows wagged once before he said, "According to the Jamestown sheriff's department, deputy Joshua Race called back two hours later.  He reported that there was a mix-up on a delivery and Jacobi was, I quote, 'acting like a nutcase about it.'  The deputy said a Dr. Cavalle assured him that they were arranging to get the stuff out of New Columbia this morning.  Race left without seeing Dr. J."

          Blackwood folded his arms across his chest.  "That doesn't sound like Ephrem."

          "So, what do we do?" Norton asked, knowing that whatever Harrison decided, the good colonel probably wouldn't like it, and that meant there would probably be some entertaining human fireworks.

          "I think we'd better go over to New Columbia Village and take a look."

          "That's what I thought you'd say."  Norton folded his arms across his chest and looked skeptical.  "The Colonel's not going to like that.  He's still going through the data we brought back from Grover's Mill."

          "The Colonel doesn't like much of anything as far as I can tell."

          "The Colonel's like what?" Suzanne asked, stepping into the basement labs from the elevator.

          "Like a dog with a bone and no backyard," Norton offered.

          Suzanne smiled down at the handsome Jamaican and shook her head.  Harrison and Norton had developed a unique pastime – colonel-baiting, and she had apparently stepped right into the latest bout.

          Harrison explained the "Jacobi situation" to her, then had Norton replay the tape.  Suzanne's hazel eyes widened as she listened.  When it ended, she shook her head.  "That doesn't sound like Dr. Jacobi at all."

          Harrison shook his head.  "No, it doesn't.  That's why we have to go."

          "To New Columbia?" she asked.

          "Yep."

          "Have you talked to Ironhorse about this?" she asked.

          "We were just discussing that when you got here," Norton said.

          She nodded.  "I see.  I'll get my stuff together."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Doctor, we can't chase down every—"

          "Colonel," Blackwood interrupted, "Ephrem Jacobi isn't just anybody.  He's a friend of mine, and we're going.  I was just hoping you'd choose to accompany us.  Besides, remember what happened in Ohio?"

          Lieutenant Colonel Paul Ironhorse let the pen drop to his cluttered desktop and stood behind his desk.  How could he possibly forget?  A student/friend of Suzanne's disappeared and they ran into a nest of coed aliens, playing Aliens and Asteroids of all the damned things, while looking for him…

          "Damn it, Blackwood, the aliens aren't behind _everything_."

          "No, of course not, Colonel," Harrison said, feigning capitulation.  "I know that. But you have to admit, they do seem to be behind more and more… unusual events these days."

          Stepping around his desk, the colonel pushed back the urge to throttle the scientist.  Dr. Harrison Blackwood had absolutely no clue how a military research and intelligence unit was supposed to operate.  They were _not_ a field unit.  They were _not_ an attack team.  Despite that fact, at every turn Blackwood, McCullough, and Drake forced their way into the field, placing their lives in danger.  Not to mention his.

          The black eyes narrowed as he studied the astrophysicist's expression.  Blackwood's resolve was fixed, that much was clear.  He steeled himself and nodded. "But I want to hear this transmission first."

          "Fine," Harrison said, a victorious smile flashing across his handsome face.  "Norton can play it for you while Suzanne and I get ready."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The Cherokee colonel leaned against the workstation and listened to the exchange, then reached out and turned it off.  He fixed Norton with a stern gaze.  "Does Jacobi have a record of instability?"

          Norton shook his head.  "No."  He poured the colonel a cup of coffee and handed it to him, adding, "Not even after putting up with the doc for over thirty years."

          "That is _not_ a recommendation," Ironhorse muttered before he tried the coffee. "The man's a fruit-bar."

          The younger black man grinned.  "I hope you mean Harrison, Colonel.  Jacobi's a straight arrow.  He'd even like you."

          "He does start out sounding rational," the soldier admitted, ignoring the jibe.

          "Harrison noticed that, too."  Norton leaned forward, a grin on his face.  "So, we're going?"

          Ironhorse shook his head.  "I'd like to say no, but—"

          "Harrison doesn't understand that word unless he wants to."

          "So I've noticed," Ironhorse said with a sour expression.  He stood.  "But I want you here.  Run an analysis of the original recording."

          "What am I looking for?"

          "Anything in the background that might explain what Jacobi's raving about, or what sparked it."

          "Leave it me, Colonel-mon."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Jamestown and Columbia were small California communities.  Northwest of Yosemite National Park and east of Stockton, they sat in the rugged foothills of the Sierra Nevadas.  Not exactly an ideal location for an agricultural community, but the whole idea behind New Columbia was to develop methods for subsistence farming that could be implemented anywhere.

          Passing through the town of Columbia, they turned east on a double lane road that led them further into the pine-covered foothills.  Driving the last leg of the trip, Ironhorse slowed as they passed a sign proclaiming:  New Columbia Village, Gaia Project.  Sponsored by the New Pacific Institute.  Dr. Carl Lutekey, Coordinator.

          "The farm's about eight miles up the road," Harrison offered from the passenger seat where he sat with a computer-generated map in his lap.

          The mobile phone lying on the seat between the two men rang and Harrison scooped it up.  "Speak to me, Norton."

          "Hiya, Doc," Drake replied.  "Listen, I'm still running the analysis on the tape, but I got a list of supplies delivered to New Columbia over the last month from the PIT."

          "Anything interesting?"

          "Yeah, pesticides and chemicals, a lot of them."

          "That doesn't make any sense," Harrison muttered.

          "What?" Ironhorse asked.

          Blackwood glanced at the colonel.  "Norton says that New Columbia's been receiving shipments of pesticides and chemicals for the last month.  But the entire project was set up to find alternatives to pesticides and chemical fertilizers."

          "So why use them now?" Suzanne asked from the back seat.

          "Exactly," Harrison said, then handed her the phone.  "Get a list from Norton, maybe we can figure out why."

          Suzanne scowled, but accepted the mobile.

          "So this New Columbia was set up to do natural farming?" Ironhorse asked, glancing at Blackwood.  "Bugs and stuff like that?"

          Harrison nodded.  "You use certain bugs that attack the pests that attack the crops, or mix in companion plants with the crops that repel the pests and weeds you want to keep out."

          "Took 'em this long to figure that out?" Ironhorse muttered.

          Not hearing the comment clearly, Harrison challenged, "You think pesticides are a good idea, Colonel?"

          Why did Blackwood insist on making him an extremist?  Sitting up straighter in his seat, Ironhorse's jaw tightened.  "Whatever puts food on the table, Doctor," he said in his best right-wing, hard-ass voice.

          "Even if it harms the environment?" Blackwood asked, his ire mounting.  "We _all_ have to be responsible for what happens to this planet, Colonel."

          "I'm all for the environment, Doctor," Paul argued, glancing at Blackwood.  "My people were—"

          "Watch out!" Suzanne called from the backseat.

          Ironhorse looked back to the road and slammed on the brakes, the Bronco coming to a squealing stop just short of several felled trees that blocked the road.

          "Colonel, why don't we park here and walk the rest of the way?" Harrison suggested brightly, winning a dark glower from the soldier.

          Ironhorse climbed out, slamming the door and immediately disappearing into the shadow of the trees.  Harrison wagged his eyebrows at Suzanne, who rolled her eyes.  "Come on," he said, climbing out.  "Time to take a hike."

          Suzanne scooted over and climbed out.  "I think you made him mad," she said softly, tucking a stray strand of brown hair behind her ear.  "You really ought to leave him alone."

          Harrison grinned after the soldier, then turned to Suzanne.  "And miss out on all my fun?"  He nodded at the truck.  "See if you can reach Norton, let him know about the road."

          She climbed back into the Bronco and retrieved the mobile phone, then dialed.

          Slapping the hood, Harrison pointed into the woods.  Suzanne nodded, watching Harrison head into the trees, looking for the colonel, no doubt.  She sighed. One day Ironhorse was going to plug Blackwood, and she'd be stuck with the body.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Find anything?" Harrison asked when he found Ironhorse lying on the top of a small hill, scanning the countryside with a small pair of field glasses.

          "Farmhouse and some outbuildings about a quarter of a mile up the road."  He handed the glasses to Blackwood, who stood on top of the hill and checked out the farm.

          Muttering, the colonel left the scientist and walked over to the broken tree trunks.

          "Blackwood."

          Harrison shoved the glasses in his jacket pocket and joined the colonel.  "What's up?"

          Paul held up a black wire with a melted glob at the end.  "Know what this is, Doctor?"

          "Wire?" he guessed.  "Melted wire."

          "A fuse," Ironhorse corrected.  "Someone used dynamite to bring these trees down."

          Harrison gave the soldier a perplexed look.  "Now why would someone do that?"

          "A very good question, Doctor," Ironhorse said.  "But I'd say they wanted to discourage visitors."  He headed back to the Bronco, where Suzanne was still talking to Norton.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          In the pines a man in black military fatigues watched the threesome at the Bronco.

          Holding a machine gun comfortably in one hand, he keyed a radio unit with the other.  "We have visitors."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Glad no one was hurt," Norton replied after Suzanne explained the latest developments.

          "Me, too," she agreed.  "Of course, I haven't been able to assess the Colonel's ego."

          Ironhorse stepped up beside her.  "My ego is doing just fine, Doctor."  He gestured for the phone.

          "Hold on," she said, silently praying she didn't look as chagrined as she felt.  "The Colonel wants to talk to you…"  She handed it over with an apologetic smile and half-shrug.

          Ironhorse made no sign he even noticed.  "Mr. Drake, did you get anything from the tape?"

          "Just some background noise.  There's a hissing that might be static and the sound of a small plane, maybe a crop duster."

          "In a community that doesn't believe in spraying."

          "Sounded odd to me, too," Norton said.  "But that's what mama Cray says it is and I believe her."

          "See if any of the local airstrips rented a plane to New Columbia or did any spraying for them."

          "Will do.  Oh, and one more thing, Colonel."

          "What's that, Mr. Drake?"

          "The pesticides and chemicals delivered to New Columbia were ordered by Dr. Carl Lutekey, the site manager.  According to his files, he's been working on alternative farming techniques for the last ten years and he's been in charge of New

Columbia for almost three years.  I tried to reach him in the village, but he's not picking up."

          "Roger that.  Get started on the airstrips.  If we find out where the plane came from maybe we can get a handle on what's going on."

          "Gotcha.  I'll go mobile for that."

          "Roger," Ironhorse said.  "We'll be in the village in half an hour.  Keep in touch."

          "Roger?" Harrison mouthed.

          Suzanne shook her head.

          "Right, you guys do the same," Norton said.

          "Roger and out," Paul said, then terminated the call and slapped the phone back into Suzanne's hand.  She slipped it into her travel backpack while Blackwood grinned.

          Glancing at the astrophysicist, the colonel added, "Let's go see what's going on."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The two civilians trailed Ironhorse through the pines until he brought them to the driveway leading up to a two-story farm house.  They slowed as they proceeded up the sidewalk, Suzanne stopping long enough to pick up a doll lying twisted on the cement in front of the big two-story home.  The wind swept through the pines, whistling and sending a chill down her back.  Where was the little girl who had cared for the doll?  Something told her that she wasn't going to enjoy finding out…

          Leading the way to the front door of the house, Ironhorse knocked.

          Not far away a young boy watched them from around a large tree trunk.  About twelve, he was dressed in overalls and a hand-me-down jacket.  His curly black hair was tangled, and his black eyes were red from crying.

          "Hello?" the colonel called, testing the door.  It was unlocked.  "Anyone home?"

          The boy gripped his .22 rifle tighter as the three strangers entered his house.  Once they were inside he ran to the back of the building.

          Harrison and Suzanne stepped into the living room as Paul studied a shadow-draped staircase leading up to the second floor.  "I'll check up here," he told them.

          Harrison nodded, drawn to a picture on the fireplace mantel.  An odd scratching noise filled the room, but he ignored it.  He reached out and took the picture off the mantle.  An attractive women in a pearl white wedding dress smiled back at him, while her new husband gazed fondly at her.  Given their dark complexions and the background Harrison guessed they were Mexican or Latin American.

          Suzanne brushed past Blackwood.  "What's that noise?"

          He stepped over and checked the television.  It was cold.  He searched the room, finding an old fashioned record player spinning an LP, the needle arm sitting to the side.  He reached in and turned the machine off and the noise disappeared.  The silence was tangible, and he wiped his forehead, wondering why he was suddenly very nervous.

          In the kitchen Suzanne found a table set for a meal.  Lunch or dinner, she guessed, judging from the menu.  Two cups of cold coffee sat next to the plates at either end of the table, glasses of milk in front of the other two.  She sat the doll in one of the children's seats, then turned to leave, bumping into Harrison.

          "Sorry," he said when she jumped and gasped.

          She looked back down at the table.  "I wonder what happened to them."

          Both of them jumped when Ironhorse joined them.

          "We have the Escaveras here, up from Mexico," he said, waving  a piece of paper.  "Enrique Escavera usually works for the University in Mexico City, but he's here on loan to the New Pacific Institute."

          Harrison moved to the back door and opened it, needing the fresh air.  His gaze swept the porch.  "Colonel," he called, stepping out and squatting down.  "What do you make of this?"

          Ironhorse left the paper on the table and stepped out to join Blackwood, who stood, handing the colonel a half-empty box of shotgun shells.

          Glancing around, the soldier spotted several empty casings scattered across the backyard.  _Like someone was running and firing_ , he concluded.

          Pressing the box back into Harrison's hands, he walked over and picked up one of the shells, sniffing it.  "Fired recently," he said.

          Harrison set the box down on the back porch, telling Suzanne softly, "Shotgun shells."

          "I know," she informed him, rolling her eyes and sighing when he apparently didn't bother to hear her comment.

          "Come on," the colonel said, leading the way toward the largest of the outbuildings.

          From the cover of the tall weeds growing along the weathered fence, the boy continued to watch the threesome as they made their way to the barn.

          Entering the barn, Harrison immediately veered off, following his own internal call.  Suzanne opted to stay just inside the door where a quick escape would be possible.  She watched Ironhorse pause in mid-stride.  "What?" she whispered.

          A telltale copper odor compelling him move cautiously, the colonel waved her silent and moved forward, searching until he found the source of the smell in one of the empty stalls.  A young woman lay spread-eagled in the dirt, her chest blown open.

 _Shotgun_ , Paul knew.  _Damn._   He guessed she was Mrs. Escavera.

          "I found the woman," he called, his hand automatically going to the M-9 in his holster.

          He could hear Harrison and Suzanne moving to join him and turned, blocking Suzanne's view.  "I don't think you want to see this."

          She sidestepped him, looked down at the body, then shifted her gaze away.  "You're right," she said, stepping back and taking several deep breaths.

          Harrison joined them, glancing briefly at the women, then away as well.  "A man's in the back.  I think it's Escavera."

          "Is he dead?" the colonel asked.

          Harrison nodded.  "Yeah.  Looks like he killed her, then shot himself.  Head wound."

          Ironhorse nodded, then grabbed a blanket someone had draped across some hay bales and used it to cover the woman before leading the pair to the rear door of the barn.  He scanned the countryside, looking for something that would tell him what was going on, but there was nothing.

          "I'm going back to get the Bronco," he told them.  "I want you to stay here until I get back."

          Harrison shook his head.  "I want to go into the village and see if I can find somebody to report this to."

          "Blackwood, we don't know what's going on here."

          "And we won't find out if we don't ask," the astrophysicist argued.

          Ironhorse's lips disappeared into a thin line of frustration, but he nodded once. "Be careful.  And call me on the mobile if you find anything."

          "Will do, Colonel."

          Shaking his head, the soldier turned and headed off.  When he reached the fence, he vaulted smoothly over and kept walking, disappearing into the pines.  The two civilians watched until the shadows wrapped him and Ironhorse disappeared.

          With Ironhorse gone, Suzanne felt a shiver of fear climb up her spine, but a small cascade of hay falling from the loft above them chased it away.  The ladder to the loft was nearby and she pointed to the slight hay-fall, then the ladder.  Harrison nodded.

          She climbed up as silently as she could, scrutinizing everything for a possible source of danger.  Moving forward, she reached for a pitchfork that leaned against a foot-square post that created part of the internal support for the slanted roof.  Her movement flushed the boy from cover and he scrambled over several bales before stopping to see who was chasing him.

          "It's okay," she tried to reassure the boy as she stumbled after him.  "It's all right.  We're not going to hurt you.  Okay?  We're not going to hurt you.  It's okay.  We're here to help."

          "Suzanne?" Harrison called, reaching the top of the ladder.

          The boy's eyes widened at the sound of the masculine voice and he bolted.  Suzanne chased after him, Harrison on her heels, but neither of them were particularly coordinated in the loose hay.

          "We just want to help you!" she called, but the boy knew the barn better than they did and was obviously terrified.

          The two Project members stumbled to a stop at the exterior opening of the second story loft and watched the boy disappear into the woods.

          "Sorry," Harrison apologized for a second time.

          "You didn't know," she said.

          "You think he was their son?"

          She shrugged, thinking about Debi.  "I don't know, but I hope not."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Norton sat behind the wheel of his van, fondly called the "Green Machine" for obvious reasons.  Around him the Sonora airfield sat nestled in what used to be a small meadow.  A few people went about their business, checking their small prop-planes, fueling them, and the like.

          Leaning against the van door, the grizzled old pilot/mechanic who managed the field chewed on the end of his cigar and chuckled as he rubbed his beard-stubbled chin.  "You mean that bunch of granola-lovers up there tryin' to grow things on a pile of rocks?"

          "Yeah," Norton admitted.  "That's the place."

          The older man nodded.  "Yup, I rented 'em a plane all right."

          "When was that?"

          "Let's see…" the man said, scratching behind his ear.  "Someone took it up there… yesterday afternoon."

          "You didn't fly it?" Norton asked.

          "Nope.  I'm up to the family jewels tryin' to get that Tiger Moth over there back in the air," he said, pointing to a peeling single-prop plane sitting under a sagging wooden roof supported by four metal poles.

          "I can see how that could keep you busy," Norton sympathized.  "Know what they were going to use the plane for?"

          The man chewed the stub of his cigar a moment, then shrugged.  "Nope.  And I didn't ask.  None of my business.  They paid for it up front.  I guess they wanted to spray."

          "Thought that was against their code or something."

          The old man grinned around his cigar.  "Yeah, me, too, but with a nut case like that, who really knows."

          "How'd he seem to you?"

          "Who?"

          Norton glanced down to double check the name.  "Dr. Carl Lutekey, the site manager."

          The man shook his head.  "Mr. Wacky didn't pick it up.  It was some other guy."  The man fished into the grease-smudged pocket of his shirt and pulled out a rumpled receipt.  "Some guy named Cavalle."

          Norton scanned the list of residents and employees at New Columbia, but there was no Cavalle there.  Then he remembered where he'd heard the name.  The deputy said Cavalle was the one who promised to get rid of the chemicals…

          "You see this Cavalle before?"

          "Nope."

          "Okay, well, thanks," Norton said, sticking his hand out.

          The man shook it, then puttered back to the Tiger Moth.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Walking up the paved road to the village proper, Harrison and Suzanne were interrupted by the scratching noise of truck tires on one of the gravel side streets.  They paused, waiting for the pick-up to reach them before Harrison smiled and waved.

          The driver slowed.

          "Hello," Harrison called.  "Can we talk to you?"

          The man stopped next to them on the road.  "Hello," he replied with an artificial smile.

          "We're looking for Dr. Jacobi," Harrison said.  "Dr. Ephrem Jacobi from the New Pacific Institute."

          "Who are you?" the driver asked.

          "We're from the World Food Organization," Harrison lied.  "We had an appointment with Dr. Jacobi concerning a grant for the work you're doing here in the Village."

          "I'm very sorry you came all this way for nothing," the driver said, climbing out of the truck.  He shook their hands, both Project members missing the small radiation burn on the inside of his wrist.  "I'm afraid Dr. Jacobi returned to the New Pacific Institute yesterday.  I'm Dr. Anthony Cavalle," he offered.  "I work for Dr. Lutekey, the manager here.  But I'm afraid he isn't here at the moment either.  He went into Jamestown for more supplies."

          "Where is everyone?" Suzanne asked, glancing around.

          Cavalle looked up.  "Oh, you mean the workers?"

          The Project members nodded.

          "We, uh, we decided it would be best to give them some time off.  We've been working very hard here recently.  They needed and deserved the rest.  They're probably in their homes."

          "Dr. Cavalle," Harrison said, taking a step back.  "We found two bodies in the farm up the road."

          "Bodies?"

          "Yes, we believe their name was Escavera," Suzanne added, wishing he would stop studying them so intently so she could use the Geiger-counter on him.

          "Oh, my God," the man breathed, slumping back against the truck.  "That's, that's . . . terrible."

          "Is there someone we can report this to?" Suzanne asked.

          "Uh, well, yes, I suppose so…"

          "Look, a friend of ours has gone back for our truck," Harrison said.  "It's just the other side of the windfall.  If we could contact the proper authorities before he gets back, we'll head back for the New Pacific Institute."

          Cavalle glanced in the direction of the downed trees.  "Uh, why, yes, yes, of course.  We had a terrible storm the other night.  We haven't had time to clear the trees away yet."

          Harrison nodded, not believing a single word.  "These things happen."

          "Look," Cavalle said, "why don't you wait here for a minute.  I'll go unload these supplies and I'll be right back.  I'll take you to see Al Tropper, the head of security."

          "Fine," Harrison replied.  "Thank you."

          Cavalle climbed back into his truck and left, Harrison watching him.  "Did you get a Geiger-counter reading on him?"

          "No," Suzanne said.  "He was watching us too closely, but he sure felt… strange."

          "I know what you mean."

          Suzanne glanced across the street, spotting a woman peering at them through a window.  She looked scared.  "Harrison, look," she said, touching his arm and nodding.

          Blackwood followed her gaze.  "Maybe we should go say hello?  She might tell us more than Cavalle."

          "My thoughts exactly."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Norton sat in the back of the Green Machine, working at the mobile computer station which now filled more than half of the space.  A picture and biographical information filled his screen.

          "So, Dr. Anthony Cavalle was reported missing six days ago," he said aloud.  "A chemist, huh?"

          He took a sip of coffee poured from the large silver thermos and sighed with contentment.  Then he continued reading.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse moved silently through the trees to the Bronco.  With each step he considered what he would do to Blackwood if anything happened.  However, when he realized that each and every one of his ideas would land him in Leavenworth for twenty plus years, he stopped.  He really did have to get Wilson to speed up the process authorizing him his very own Special Forces A-Team.  He really needed to spend some time in the company of his own kind or he _was_ going to bury Blackwood on the property.

          He slowed as he reached the felled trees, moving up cautiously.  His gear was stowed in the back and it was definitely starting to look like they might need it.  He really had to stop letting the civilians' opinions on his profession and its tools stop him from going into situations armed to the extent he was comfortable.

          As he reached the black and tan truck he noticed the passenger side door standing open.  Palming his M-9, he moved forward, checking the interior.  Someone had gone through the Bronco.  His gear was gone.

          "Damn it," he hissed softly.

          Walking back to the driver's side, he fished out his keys and slid in.  When he found the engine dead, he released the hood lock, climbed out and lifted the hood to see what the problem was.

          Sabotage.

          Someone had done more than enough damage to insure that they wouldn't be driving out of New Columbia.

          "Great," he sighed.

          A soft noise in the trees told him that that "somebody" might still be hanging around.

          Weapon ready, he eased out from under the hood and spun, dropping into a crouch, ready to fire.

          The boy's eyes flew wide and his lips rounded into a silent "O."

          The colonel jerked the M-9 up so it pointed at the sky.  "Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa," he said softly.  "It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you," he assured, slowly returning his weapon to its holster.

          He moved closer to the boy, who stood his ground, a .22 rifle held defensively, but non-threateningly, in both hands.

          Squatting down, so he was at the boy's eye-level, Ironhorse tried a small smile as he asked, "What's your name?"  When the child refused to answer, he ventured, "Are you from the farm back there?"  Still nothing.  "Are you from the Village?  The New Columbia Village?"  Still nothing.  "Do you speak English?"

          The boy reached into the pocket of his coveralls and pulled out a small piece of paper and offered it to Paul.

          Ironhorse took it, unfolded it, and read the childish scrawl:  Help Us.

          Looking up at the boy, he could see the fear hiding not far behind the resolve.  He wanted to reach out and give the boy a hug, assure him that everything would be just fine, but he couldn't.  He had no idea what they were up against.

          "What the devil's going on here?" he asked softly.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Harrison and Suzanne entered the building – a large storage building of some kind.  Stacks of tools, buckets, boards and chicken wire.  Burlap sacks full of seeds, compost, and other items were also stacked in neat rows.

          "Hi," Blackwood said with a reassuring smile to the frightened dark-skinned women.  "How are you today?"

          The woman did not reply, but she didn't move either.  They made their way over to join her.

          "We're looking for Dr. Ephrem Jacobi," Harrison told her.  "Can you help us?"

          When she still refused to reply, Harrison reached out, intending to open the door behind her.

          "No," she said, her voice softly accented.  "You have to go."

          "It's okay," Harrison assured her.  "We're here to help.  We're looking for Dr. Ephrem Jacobi.  Do you know who he is?"

          The woman looked past Blackwood to Suzanne, who nodded.  "It's okay.  Really.  We do want to help you."

          "Yes.  I know Dr. Jacobi."

          "Is he here?" Harrison asked her.

          "No."

          "Do you know where he is?" Suzanne asked the woman.

          "No."

          "What're you hiding in there?" Harrison asked her.

          She stepped aside and the two Project members moved into the adjoining room.  It looked much like the first, except for the men who stood or sat on the sacks of seeds, all of them sporting injuries ranging from bruises to cuts to what the Project members were sure was bullet wounds.  One man lay on a folding cot, his head bandaged.  Blood stained the gauze.

          "What happened to him?" Suzanne asked.

          The women looked down at the floor, tears tracing down her cheeks.  "It was a nightmare," she whispered.  "A nightmare."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse and the boy walked side-by-side down the road, the colonel respecting the boy's silence.  He was reasonably sure that the child was mute, but he wasn't at sure if it was a new condition or not.  In any case, he respected the courage the boy showed.

          As they neared a sharp turn in the road leading to the Village proper, Paul reached out and stopped the boy with a hand on his shoulder.  "Wait."

          The boy looked up at him, the question clear in his dark brown eyes.  But Paul did not reply, staring back down the road until he caught sight of the pick-up he'd heard.  He pulled the M-9 free and dragged the boy off the road when he spotted the man in black fatigues standing in the back of the truck, the machine gun in his hands making him a clear threat.

          "It'll be okay—"  Paul started before another of the uniformed men stepped out of the trees, his weapon trained on the colonel and the boy.

          "Don't move," the man told them.

          Paul raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.  "Okay, just don't hurt the boy."

          "Drop your weapon by the side of the road."

          Ironhorse knew he could take the man, but if he did there was a chance that the boy could be hurt.  _Damn, damn, damn…_

          "Now!"

          Paul followed the instruction, tossing the weapon away.

          The man stepped closer, speaking into his radio, "Okay, I got 'em."

          Paul squeezed the boy's shoulder, saying, "Go!"

          The boy bolted for the cover of the trees as Ironhorse lashed out with an on-target side kick to the man's mid-section, bending him forward as the air exploded from his lungs.  The colonel followed up with an elbow blow under the man's chin, snapping his head back and knocking him off his feet.

          As he stepped forward for the man's weapon, shots breezed over the colonel's head, stopping him.

          The downed man scrambled to his feet as Ironhorse swung around.  The man who had been standing in the back of the pick-up climbed down, his weapon at the ready.

          Placing his hands on top if his head, Paul sighed, "Don't tell me, _Soldier of Fortune_ annual picnic?"

          The man Paul had taken down rammed the butt of his weapon into the soldier's gut.  The second followed up with a blow to Ironhorse's jaw that sent him crashing back into the ground.  The first man stepped in, kicking and using his weapon like a club.

          After several vicious blows, the man from the truck stepped in, halting the assault.  "Enough.  We will put him with the others."

          "He attacked me," the first argued.

          "We might need his body later.  If it is damaged it cannot serve our purposes."

          The first man nodded.

          Together they reached down and lifted Paul off the ground.  From behind nearly closed eyes he caught sight of the boy, hiding not far away.  _Run_ , he mentally commanded.  _Run._

          They carried Ironhorse to the pick-up, tossing him in on the plastic-lined bed. Ironhorse remained motionless, feigning unconsciousness.  _Blackwood was right.  They are aliens.  Again…_

          The three aliens climbed into the cab, leaving Paul alone.  He briefly entertained the idea of escape, but if they planned on sparing him for future use, maybe they would take him to wherever they were holding Jacobi and Lutekey.  _Grandfather, let me be right on this one.  The alternative isn't real pretty._

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Norton drove back to the airfield and spent nearly an hour waiting for Jack MacIntyer, the old man he'd spoken to before, to arrive.  When he did, Norton handed him the picture of Cavalle.

          "Is that the man who picked up the plane?"

          Jack nodded.  "Yup, that's Cavalle all right."

          "Thanks," Norton said, rolling Gertrude back to the van.

          Back inside he reached for the mobile phone and dialed.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Harrison, Suzanne, and the woman sat on a stack of sacks full of seeds.

          "Please," Suzanne said, "tell us what's happening here.  We can't help you if we don't know what's going on."

          The women chewed her lip, then wiped her eyes with a handkerchief and nodded.  "We were working in the fields, like we do every day.  I was here…  I heard a plane, coming from the north.  It came straight up the road.  It flew in over the fields, spraying everyone working there."

          "What happened?" Harrison asked her softly.

          She nodded at the injured men.  "That is what it did to them.  To everyone in that field.  People were running and screaming… men were fighting…  I saw two men with shovels… they beat another man to death."

          Suzanne sucked in a breath and sat up straighter.  The list of chemicals Norton had given her sprang to mind and the possibilities suddenly became more sinister.  Harrison reached out and rested a comforting hand on her arm and started to say something, but he was interrupted when another bruised man charged into the room.

          He stopped when he saw the two Project members, then looked at the woman and said, "The men in black are coming.  They have to leave.  I think they are looking for them."

          "No," Harrison said, but before he could argue, the woman interrupted.

          "Please, they are holding our children.  They will kill them if they find you here."

          Taking a deep breath, Harrison nodded.  "Okay, we'll go, but we're going to go find your children."

          "Please, be careful," the man said.  "There is no reasoning with these men."

          "We will," Suzanne assured, reaching out to give the woman's hands a quick squeeze.

          "It is like they are no longer human," she said softly.

          Suzanne swallowed hard, but followed Harrison out the back.

          They hid in a tangle of old equipment and new that sat behind the storehouse, and watched three men in black fatigues enter the building with Cavalle.  From their position they could hear one of the men yell, "We are leaving in two hours.  If there is any trouble in that time, we will destroy you and your vermin offspring."

          The pair exchanged gazes.  "Vermin?" Suzanne mouthed.

          "Aliens," Harrison breathed.

          The mobile phone beeped and Suzanne grabbed it out of her backpack before a second beep could give them away.  "Paul?" she asked quietly.

          "No, it's Norton.  What's wrong?"

          "Norton," she sighed, holding the phone out far enough for Harrison to lean over and listen.  "Have you heard from the Colonel?"

          "No, but I did find out that Cavalle's been missing for six days and he's the one who rented the plane."

          Harrison took the phone.  "Norton, I think Cavalle's an alien."

          "An alien?" the man echoed.

          "I think so."

          "Great, and the Colonel's missing?"

          "Yeah," Harrison sighed.  "Our team's not doing real well right now."

          Suzanne's eyes widened.  "The Colonel's missing?  Norton, call the Cottage, get Debi out of there."

          "Will do," he assured her.  "You want me to come pick you up?  I'm in Sonora in the Green Machine."

          "No," Harrison said.  "We have to find Ephrem and Ironhorse."

          "But you said—"

          "I said I thought Cavalle was an alien."

          "Yeah, but—"

          "I'm not going to believe Ironhorse is lost until we can check him with the Geiger-counter," Harrison said.

          "But if he is, and you get that close…" Norton said, trailing off.  He didn't need to finish, the truth was something that Harrison and Suzanne were already too aware of.  "You two be careful, okay?"

          "Always," Harrison assured him.

          Suzanne terminated the connection and returned the phone to her backpack.  "Where do we start looking?"

          Harrison glanced around.  The sun was starting to set, which meant they were running out of light.  "I don't know, but we're running out of time."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Still parked at the airstrip, Norton called the Cottage.  Mrs. Pennyworth assured him she, Debi and Mr. Kensington would be on their way to Fort Streeter in less than an hour.  Turning back to his computer, he found more of Cavalle's records had finally come through.

          He scanned them quickly.  The man had trained under Lutekey in Germany, his specialty in bonding chemicals.

          "And what do we have here?" he asked the screen.

          There had been some accusations that Cavalle had been involved with helping third world countries develop chemical and biological weapons capabilities.

          "Nerve gas," Norton said disgustedly.  "Nerve gas?"

          He grabbed the mobile and called Harrison and Suzanne again.

          "Yes, Norton?" Harrison replied.

          "More info on Cavalle.  He's a chemist, a specialist in bonding chemicals."

          "Pesticides are a form of nerve gas," Harrison said, immediately catching on.

          "And some of the chemicals that were delivered could be used to construct synthetic hallucinogens," Suzanne added.

          "Bind the hallucinogens to the pesticides?" Harrison suggested.

          "And the effect would be madness," Suzanne finished.

          "Homicidal madness?" Norton asked.

          "That's the idea," she said, "isn't it?  It would account for what the workers here did to each other."

          "And if these guys are aliens?" Norton added.

          "We have to stop them," Suzanne said.  "If they were to spray in a populated area…"  She shook her head, refusing to contemplate the probable results.

          "Thanks, Norton," Harrison said.

          Norton terminated the call, then jumped as Jack MacIntyer knocked on the van door.

          "Hey," the older man said.  "I just got a call from Cavalle.  Said he ordered a chopper.  It'll be stopping here to re-fuel before it picks him up in New Columbia in about an hour.  Thought you might like to know."

          "Thanks!" Norton said.  "I appreciate that!"

          "No problem," the man said, then headed back to work.

          Norton picked up the mobile phone one more time.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse groaned and forced his eyes open.  The aliens had dragged him out of the truck and held him up for another man to inspect him.  The man, dressed in casual attire, grinned.

          "He will do well later.  Put him with the old man, then come with me.  There are two strangers in town."

 _Two strangers?_   He knew the man was talking about Blackwood and McCullough.  With a quick jerk, Ironhorse slammed a backfist into one of the men's face and bolted, but the other two were there, dragging him down to the ground, their superior strength making escape impossible.

          They roughed him up again, knocking him unconscious.   Now he glanced around the small wooden shack, head and ribs pounding.  Taking a deep breath, he was pleased to discover that none of his ribs were broken.  He hoped.

          Forcing himself to sit up, he saw the older man not far away.  "Dr. Jacobi?" he questioned quietly.

          The man's head came up.  "Do I know you?"

          Ironhorse shook his head.  "No, but I'm presently working with Dr. Blackwood. Paul Ironhorse," he said, adding, "Lieutenant Colonel Paul Ironhorse, United States Army Special Forces."

          "Ah," Jacobi said, a smile lifting the despondency from his face, "then you know about the aliens.  You're working with Harrison to stop them?"

          "Yes, but how—?"

          "I worked with Clayton on the Ezekiel Project."

          "I see," Ironhorse said.  "We came up here looking for you after Norton heard your radio call."

          "Oh," Jacobi said, clearly uncertain if he remembered making such a call, then the memory hit.  "Oh, yes.  And you came?"

          "To be honest, Doctor, it was Blackwood's idea."

          "Harrison's here in New Columbia?"

          Ironhorse nodded.  "He and Dr. McCullough."

          The relief that flooded over the man's expression changed to fear.  "We have to get out of here, Colonel.  We have to warn them."

          "About the aliens?"

          "Yes.  I'm sure these men are aliens."

          The colonel nodded.  "I put the clues together, but too late.  If I know Blackwood, he's already figured that out.  I think he knew before we even got here."

          "Harrison always did have a unique knack," Jacobi said.  "I discovered it too late as well.  I should've known something was wrong when I arrived.  Carl was nowhere to be found.  Dr. Cavalle said he had gone to Jamestown for supplies, but when he didn't return I should've been more suspicious.  I'm afraid they might have killed him."

          "What happened?"

          "When Carl didn't return I started looking around the village.  I found chemicals and pesticides in one of the store houses yesterday.  I came back to Carl's office to call the authorities.  Then I heard the plane…"

          Ironhorse watched the man's face as he relived the moment.  When he appeared to be caught in the images, he prompted, "Doctor?  Are you all right?"

          "The plane was spraying, and suddenly I was overwhelmed with a nightmare feeling of fear and rage…"  He trailed off, then looked up, meeting the colonel's gaze. "Cavalle has created something monstrous, truly monstrous."

          "Besides Cavalle, how many others are there?"

          "Three.  Some of the residents told me that they came to the village four days ago, said they were looking for work.  Cavalle took them on."

          Before Paul could follow up, they were interrupted by a light rapping sound at the window.  The colonel looked up, not particularly surprised to find the boy standing outside, grinning and waving at him.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Help me!  Somebody help me!" Jacobi cried.  "Dead!  He's dead!  Dead, I tell you!"

          One of the black-uniformed men unlocked the door to the room and entered.

          "You've killed him!  He's dead!  Now, get him out of here!"

          The man/alien regarded Jacobi dispassionately.  "Shut up," he said, then walked over to where Paul was lying prone on the unfinished wooden floor.  Using the toe of his boot, he nudged the colonel, then hooked his toe under Ironhorse's hip and rolled him over.

          Paul let the force carry him over, then snapped the .22 up and shot the man between the eyes.  The guard screamed and staggered back, his face beginning to dissolve.  If there was any doubt that they were dealing with aliens, it was gone now.

          "Come on," he told Jacobi, helping the man to his feet.  Reaching down to grab the guard's rifle, he led the way out, saying, "We have to find Blackwood and Suzanne."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Harrison and Suzanne carefully worked their way through the village, looking for Jacobi, the colonel, and/or the missing children, but all they found were empty buildings.  The sun slipped behind the mountains, leaving them in darkness.

          Moving through one of the small pens that held several cows to reach another of the small outbuildings, Harrison stopped.

          Suzanne did as well, asking, "What?"

          "What do you make of that?" he asked, nodding toward an open-sided barn.

          She squinted.  Inside, Cavalle and two of the men in black worked, filling thin silver gas tanks.  "Looks like trouble."

          "Come on, let's see if we can get a little closer.  I want to see what they're doing."

          "Are you crazy?"

          "Come on."

          Shaking her head, Suzanne trailed the man, wishing the colonel were there, with a leash.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "They're ready," Cavalle said, finishing.  "Load the tanks onto the truck."

          "And the humans and their offspring?" asked one of the men in black.

          "Find the healthiest of the adults so that we may blend with them.  The others will be exposed and left behind."

          "And the children, Envoy?" asked the second man.

          "They are of no use to us, kill them," Cavalle replied.  "But load the gas-weapon first, then take it to the field and set the flares.  The Advocates will be pleased.  With this weapon we will be able to ignite fear and terror amongst the humans.  They will kill each other and the planet will be ours."

          The two men nodded.  "We are nothing without your council, Envoy."  They started to work on loading the cylinders.

          "We have to find those children," Suzanne said.  "Now."

          "I know," Harrison agreed.  "Let's go."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Outside the small wooden storehouse, Ironhorse patted the boy's shoulder.  "You did good, son.  I'm proud of you."  He handed back the .22, then looked at Jacobi.  "Look, I want you to take the boy and—"

          The boy slapped the colonel's arm and shook his head, pointing.

          "No, I want you away from the village," Paul tried to explain, but the boy bolted, running off in the direction he'd indicated.

          "Hey, hey, hey!" Paul called softly, chasing after him, Jacobi on his heels.

          The kid scooted behind one building, and Ironhorse followed, reaching out to grab the back of his jacket.  "Come here.  What're you doing?"

          The boy struggled for a moment, then pointed at a boarded-up window.  Ironhorse checked through one of the cracks.  Inside several other children sat in an empty room, many of them crying, all of them obviously frightened.

          He patted the boy's shoulder.  "Okay, I understand.  Stay here, I'll get them."  He looked at Jacobi.  "Stay with him."

          "Will do, Colonel."

          Edging around the side of the building, Ironhorse headed for the door.  It was locked.  He tested the strength with his shoulder.  Sturdy.  He could shoot the lock off, but that would alert the aliens.  He headed back to the window.  "Here, hold this," he said, pressing the guard's rifle into Jacobi's hands, then tried prying off one of the boards.  It came free with a minimum effort.

          He continued working, prying board after board off while Jacobi stood close by, looking decidedly uncomfortable holding the deadly weapon.  The boy also stood nearby, looking more certain about what he'd do if anyone interrupted.

          "Someone's coming," Jacobi whispered.  The boy nodded.

          Paul left the rest of the boards and took back the rifle.  He listened.  "Two someones."

          He dropped slightly and swung around the corner ready to fire.  He jerked the gun up when he recognized Harrison and Suzanne.  "Trying to get yourselves killed, aren't you?" he said, already turning.

          Suzanne showed Harrison the Geiger-counter.  It read normal.

          "Good to see you, too, pal," Harrison muttered, following the colonel around the corner.  "Ephrem!"

          "Harrison," the older man said, accepting an affectionate hug from the astrophysicist.  "Are you all right?"

          "I'm fine."

          "It's the children," Suzanne said, joining the colonel at the window.

          Ironhorse helped the children out through the window, Suzanne doing her best to keep them as quiet as possible.

          "Tell me more about the chemicals," Harrison said, pulling Jacobi off several steps.  Suzanne tracked them, pressing a little girl into Harrison's arms.  He passed her to Jacobi.

          Jacobi hugged the tiny girl to his shoulder.  "The effects are instantaneous when it's inhaled.  But once it's on the ground, or exposed to the air for a little while, it apparently loses its potency."

          "Okay," Ironhorse interrupted.  "That's all of them."  He reached out, grabbing Suzanne's arm.  "You and Jacobi take the kids that way," he instructed, pointing across a field.  "Get them over the hill and hide in the trees.  And whatever you do, don't come back."

          "Be careful," she said.

          "You, too."

          Paul turned to the boy.  "You go with them, okay?"

          The boy shook his head.

          "Yes," Ironhorse said.  "Who else can I trust to guard them?"

          The boy considered for a moment, then nodded.

          Harrison and Paul watched silently until the group was out of sight, then Blackwood whispered, "Norton said a chopper was on the way.  Suzanne and I saw the field where they were laying flares."

          "Show me," Ironhorse said.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The pair arrived at the open barn just as a pick-up backed into the open space. Two men in black and Cavalle worked to load the last few cylinders of nerve gas.  Moving among the cows in the small pen, Harrison and Paul were able to make their way across the space without being detected.

          Reaching the side of the barn, Harrison said, "I'm going to see if I can get a sample of that gas."

          "Blackwood," Ironhorse hissed, but it was too late.  The astrophysicist was already moving.

          Knowing he would be able to protect the scientist only if he had a clear shot into the open area where the aliens were working, Ironhorse crept off in the opposite direction, silently praying that Blackwood didn't get caught.  The paperwork would be hell, and he wanted the pleasure of killing the man himself.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Harrison moved into the barn, finding several large vats where he assumed they had mixed the chemicals.  Nearby an old tractor sat, collecting cobwebs.  A stack of hay bales hid him from the aliens as they worked, the clanging of cylinders telling him they didn't have much time.

          Deciding to chance a closer look, Blackwood moved to the tractor, then to the back side of the hay bales.  He was surprised to discover the boy kneeling behind the pile of the light material, getting ready to shoot Cavalle.

          Stepping forward, he clamped one hand over the boy's mouth and circled his chest with the other arm, dragging him back behind the tractor.  One of the black-suited aliens caught sight of the movement and moved toward them to check it out.

          Harrison pulled the rifle out of the boy's hands and tossed it aside.  The boy bolted free, hitting the tractor and knocking a wrench off.  It landed with a metallic clatter.

          The alien fired, the boy and Harrison both diving behind the tractor for what cover they could find.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          At the edge of the woods Suzanne jumped as the gunfire sounded.

          She grabbed Jacobi's arm.  "Stay with them," she said, then ran back toward the buildings without waiting for an answer.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse used the distraction the gunfire created to pop up from cover behind a mild heifer and fire.  The man in the black uniform went down and the cow trotted off.  Cavalle bolted for the pick-up as the second alien swung around and opened up on Paul, forcing him to dive for cover in the darkness.

          The alien swung back to Harrison.

          The boy scrambled away and Blackwood tried to follow, but he couldn't fit through the small spaces between the bales.  His hand knocked against something buried in the hay and he fished it out.  A pitchfork.

          With a feral smile he scrambled to his feet, the three-tyned tool in hand.  Pressing up against the hay bales, he waited, listening as the alien moved forward, looking for the two of them.

          When the alien stepped past the end of the tractor, Harrison yelled and lunged, driving the three tongs of metal into the man's leg.  The alien swung the machine gun toward Blackwood, but before he could pull the trigger a burst of fire caught him in the chest, stalling the attack.

          The alien dropped to the ground, his weapon slipping out of his hand as he began to dissolve.

          Harrison looked around and found Ironhorse watching the alien bubble with an evil grin.  "Thanks," he said.

          "Come on."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The boy squeezed out from between the bales, only to be grabbed by Cavalle.

          "All right, it's over!  I have the boy!" he called.  "Come out, _now_ , or the boy is dead!"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "What now?" Harrison asked.

          "Step out, but not all the way."

          Swallowing hard, Harrison did as instructed.

          Cavalle jerked the boy closer.  He struggled, but the alien's strength rendered him helpless.

          "Come out, all the way!" Cavalle ordered Blackwood.

          Harrison stepped a little further from cover, Ironhorse grabbing his arm to keep him from going too far.

          Cavalle jerked around, swinging the boy and trying to get a shot off.  Harrison dove back to cover as Ironhorse stepped in, firing over Cavalle's head.  The envoy lunged for the pick-up, and Ironhorse fired again, bullets chewing across the hood.  Cavalle ran out of the barn, still clinging to the boy.

          Ironhorse, then Harrison followed.

          The envoy headed for the field where the flares burned, providing the helicopter pilot with a landing pad.  The chopper descended and the colonel stopped, snapping up the rifle, but there was no way to fire without risking the boy's life.  He knew _he_ wouldn't hit the child, but the gun in Cavalle's hand was an unknown.

          To one side of the flares sat the rows of silver cylinders.

          The chopper landed and Cavalle slowly backed toward it, using the boy as a shield.  Ironhorse walked forward, the weapon trained on the alien's head.  Harrison followed, half a step behind the soldier.

          "Kill him!" Harrison yelled over the rotor noise.

          "He might hurt the boy!"

          "He's going to get away!"

          "But _not_ with the gas!"

          "He has the formula in his head, Colonel!  He can make more!"

          The truth of Harrison's word sank like a knife into the colonel's gut.  He no longer had a choice.  He snugged the butt of the rifle into his shoulder and centered the site on the man's head.

          Cavalle reached back and opened the rear door to the chopper.

          Ironhorse's finger started to squeeze, but he let up when he saw an M-9 emerge, the business end pressing against Cavalle's head.  The alien let the boy go.

          Without hesitation, Ironhorse fired.

          Cavalle dropped to the ground, his face beginning to sag like melting wax.

          The two Project members ran up to the chopper as the pilot cut the engine.  In the back seat Norton sat strapped in, a gun in his hand and a smile on his face.  "Evenin', gentlemen, need a lift?" he asked.

          Suzanne ran up to join them with the boy.  "Are you all right?"

          "Fine," Harrison said, smiling.  "Thanks to Norton."  He reached into the chopper and slapped Drake's leg.  "Nice work."

          Ironhorse nodded.  "Very nice work, Mr. Drake."

          Norton grinned widely, looking decidedly pleased with himself.  "I thought so, too."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Back at the Cottage, the Project members gathered in the living room.

          "The analysis of the gas is complete," Suzanne said.  "It was exactly what we suspected.  A madness compound."

          "We beat them this time," Harrison said.  "But it was close.  Very, very close."

          "Too close," Ironhorse agreed.  "The pilot told me their destination was Chicago."

          "Chicago?" Suzanne questioned, sitting down and helping herself to a cup of coffee waiting on Mrs. Pennyworth's silver serving tray.

          "The Joint Chiefs have a meeting scheduled there tomorrow," Ironhorse said.  "Evidently there was a leak in Washington and the aliens picked up the information."  He sat down on the floor in front of the fireplace.  "I've already talked with General Wilson.  There will be some new security measures put into place to make sure this doesn't happen again."

          "And Ephrem says that things are already getting back to normal in the New Columbia Village," Harrison said, dropping into one of the wing-back chairs after selecting a cup of coffee for himself.  "Mmm," he said after a sip.  "This is excellent, Norton."

          "My latest blend," Norton said.  "An invitation to Nirvana."

          "Which reminds me," Harrison continued, leaning forward.  "Ephrem said that they finally found Dr. Lutekey's body.  They must have killed him as soon as they got whatever information they needed from him.  He also passed along a special invitation for you, Colonel."

          "Me?"

          "From Nico Escavera," Harrison explained.  "It seems the young man was hoping you'd stop in for a visit."

          The colonel's cheeks reddened.  "Well, you can tell Dr. Jacobi that I'll do that."

          Harrison grinned.  "I'll be sure to tell him, Colonel."


End file.
